Florila
Oh husband, this is perfect trial indeed.
Labervele
And you will try all this now, will you not?
Florila
Yea, my good head, for it is written, we must pass to perfection through all temptation, Habbakuk the fourth.
Labervele
Habbakuk? Cuck me no cucks! In a’ doors, I say. Thieves, Puritans, murderers! In a’ doors, I say.
Exit [with Florila].
Lemot
So now is he stark mad, i’faith. But, sirrah, as this is an old lord jealous of his young wife, so is ancient Countess Moren jealous of her young husband. We’ll thither to have some sport, i’faith.
Exeunt.
Scene 5
Enter Labesha hanging upon Martia’s sleeve, and the Lord Moren comes to them.
Moren
I prithee, Besha, keep a little off.
Hang not upon her shoulders thus for shame.
Labesha
My Lord, pardonnez-moi, I must not let her talk alone with anyone, for her father gave me charge.
Moren
Oh, you are a goodly charger for a goose.
Labesha
A goose! You are a gander to call me goose. I am a Christian gentleman as well as you.
Moren
Well, sirrah, get you hence, or by my troth I’ll have thee taken out in a blanket, tossed from forth our hearing.
Labesha
In a blanket? What, do you make a puppy of me? By skies and stones, I will go and tell your lady.
Exit.
Moren
Nay, but Besha —
Martia
Nay, he will tell, my lord.
Enter the Countess Moren and Labesha.
Countess
Why, how now, my lord. What, thought you I was dead, that you are wooing of another thus, or are you laying plots to work my death?
Moren
Why neither, sweet bird. What need you move these questions unto me, whom you know loves you above all the women in the world?
Countess
How he can flatter now he hath made a fault.
Labesha
He can do little, an he cannot cog.
Moren
Out, you ass.
Countess
Well, come tell me what you did entreat.
Moren
Nothing, by heaven, sweet bird, I swear, but to entreat her love —
Countess
But to entreat her love!
Moren
Nay, hear me out.
Countess
Nay here you are out. You are out too much, methinks, and put me in —
Moren
And put you in?
Countess
In a fair taking, sir, I mean.
Moren
Oh, you may see what hasty taking is. You women evermore scramble for our words, and never take them mannerly from our mouths.
Countess
Come, tell me what you did entreat.
Moren
I did entreat her love to Colinet.
Countess
To Colinet? Oh, he is your dear cousin, and your kind heart, i’faith, is never well but when you are doing good for every man. Speak, do you love me?
Moren
I’faith, sweet bird.
Countess
Best of all others?
Moren
Best of all others.
Countess
That’s my good bird, i’faith.
Labesha
Oh, mistress, will you love me so?
Martia
No, by my troth, will I not.
Labesha
‘No, by my troth, will I not’? Why, that’s well said. I could never get her to flatter me yet.
Enter Lemot, Blanvel, and Catalian, and Colinet.
Lemot
Good morrow, my good lord, and these passing lovely ladies.
Countess
So now we shall have all manner of flattering with Monsieur Lemot.
Lemot
You are all manner of ways deceived, madam, for I am so far from flattering you, that I do not a whit praise you.
Countess
Why do you call us passing lovely then?
Lemot
Because you are passing from your loveliness.
Martia
Madam, we shall not have one mot of Monsieur Lemot, but it shall be as it were a moat to drown all our conceit in admiration.
Lemot
See what a mote her quick eye can spy in mine, before she looks in it.
Martia
So mote I thee, thine answer is as good as mought be.
Lemot
Here’s a poor name run out of breath quickly.
Countess
Why, Monsieur Lemot, your name is run out of breath at every word you speak.
Lemot
That’s because my name signifies ‘word’.
Martia
Well hit, Monsieur Verbum.
Lemot
What, are you good at Latin, lady?
Martia
No, sir, but I know what verbum is.
Lemot
Why, ’tis green bum: vert is green, and you know what bum is, I am sure of that.
Martia
No, sir, ’tis a verb, and I can decline you.
Lemot
That you can, I’ll be sworn.
Martia
What can I do?
Lemot
Decline me, or take me a hole lower, as the proverb is.
Martia
Nay, sir, I mean plain grammatical declination.
Lemot
Well, let’s hear your scholarship, and decline me.
Martia
I will, sir, moto, motas.
Labesha
Oh excellent! She hath called him ass in Latin.
Lemot
Well, sir, forward.
Martia
Nay, there’s enough to try both our scholarships
Lemot
Moto, motas. Nay, faith, forward to motavi, or motandi.
Martia
Nay, sir, I’ll leave when I am well.
Countess
Why, Monsieur Lemot, your name being in word general, is in ninny, or in hammer, or in cock, or in buzzard.
Lemot
Or in wagtail, or in woodcock, or in dotterel, or in dizzard.
Martia
Or in clot, or in head, or in cow, or in baby.
Lemot
Or in malkin, or in trash, or in pap, or in lady.
Countess
Or, indeed, in everything.
Lemot
Why, then ’tis in thing.
Martia
Then, good Monsieur Thing, there let it rest.
Lemot
Then, above all things, I must have a word with you.
Labesha
Hands off, sir, she is not for your mowing.
Lemot
She is for your mocking.
Labesha
An she mock me, I’ll tell her father.
Lemot
That’s a good child, thou smellest of the mother, and she was a fool, I warrant you.
Labesha
Meddle with me, but do not meddle with my mother.
Lemot
That’s a good child. [To Martia] Come, I must needs have a word with you.
[They withdraw.]
Labesha
You shall do none of your needs with her, sir.
Catalian
Why, what will you do?
Labesha
What will I do? You shall see what I’ll do.
Then he offereth to draw [his sword].
Blanvel
Go to, you ass! Offer to draw here, and we’ll draw thee out of the house by the heels.
Labesha
What, three against one? Now was ever proper hard-favoured gentleman so abused?
Go to, Mistress Martia, I see you well enough. Are you no
t ashamed to stand talking alone with such a one as he?
Lemot
How, sir? With such a one as I, sir?
Labesha
Yea, sir, with such a one as you, sir.
Lemot
Why, what am I?
Labesha
What are you, sir? Why, I know you well enough.
Lemot
Sirrah, tell me what you know me for, or else by heaven I’ll make thee better thou hadst never known how to speak.
Labesha
Why, sir, if you will needs know, I know you for an honourable gentleman and the King’s minion, and were it not to you, there’s ne’er a gentleman in Paris should have had her out of my hands.
Martia
Nay, he’s as tall a gentleman of his hands as any is in Paris.
Colinet
There’s a favour for you, sir.
Lemot
But I can get no favour for you, sir.
Blanvel
I pray, my lord, entreat for your cousin Colinet.
Moren
Alas, man, I dare not for my wife.
Catalian
Why, my lord, she thinks it is for nothing, but to speak for your cousin.
Moren
I pray you, bird, give me leave to speak for my cousin.
Countess
I am content for him.
Moren
Then one word with you more, courteous Lady Martia.
Labesha
Not an you were my father!
Moren
Gentlemen, for God’s sake thrust this ass out of the doors.
[Moren moves to Martia.]
Lemot
Nay, by’rlady, he’ll run home and tell her father.
Catalian
Well, go to her. I warrant he shall not trouble you. [To Labesha] Kind gentleman, how we dote on thee. Embrace him, gentlemen.
Blanvel
Oh, sweet Besha, how we honour thee.
Colinet
Nay gentlemen, look what a piercing eye he hath.
Labesha
An eye? I have an eye an it were a pole-cat.
Catalian
Nay, look what a nose he hath.
Labesha
My nose is neat crimson.
Blanvel
Nay, look what a handsome man he is. O Nature, Nature,
Thou never madest man of so pure a feature.
Labesha
Truly, truly, gentlemen, I do not deserve this kindness.
Catalian
Oh lord, sir, you are too modest. Come shall we walk?
Labesha
Whither? To the alehouse?
Lemot
Hark you, madam, have you no more care of the right of your husband, than to let him talk thus affectionately with another?
Countess
Why, he speaks not for himself, but for his cousin Colinet.
Lemot
God’s my life! He tells you so. Nay, an these excuses may serve I have done.
Countess
By the mass, now I observe him, he looks very suspiciously indeed. Ne’er trust me if his lookes and his gesture do not plainly show himself to swear, ‘By this light, I do love thee’.
Lemot
By’rlady, madam, you guess shrewdly indeed. But hark you, madam, I pray let not me be the author of discord between my good lord and you.
Countess
No, no, Monsieur Lemot, I were blind if I could not see this. I’ll slit her nose, by Jesus.
[Starting for Martia.]
Moren
How now, what’s the matter?
Countess
What’s the matter? If I could come at your mistress, she should know what’s the matter.
Moren
My mistress?
Countess
Yea, your mistress. Oh, here’s fair dissimulation! [To Martia] Oh, ye impudent gossip, do I send for you to my house to make you my companion, and do you use me thus? Little dost thou know what ’tis to love a man truly, for if thou didst, thou wouldst be ashamed to wrong me so.
Martia
You wrong me, madam, to say I wrong you.
Countess
Go to, get you out of my house.
Martia
I am gone, madam.
[Makes as if to leave.]
Moren
Well, come in, sweet bird and I’ll persuade thee there’s no harm done.
Countess
Well, we shall hear your persuasions.
[Exeunt Countess and Moren.]
Lemot
Well, God knows and I can partly guess what he must do to persuade her. Well, take your fair charge, fair and manly Lord Monsieur Labesha.
Colinet
One word with you more, fair lady.
Lemot
Not a word. No man on pain of death, not a word. He comes upon my rapier’s point, that comes within forty foot on her.
Labesha
Thanks, good Lemot, and thanks gentlemen all, and her father shall thank you.
[Exeunt Labesha and Martia.]
Colinet
Much good do it you, sir. Come, gentlemen, let’s go wait upon the King, and see the humour of the young Lord Dowsecer.
Lemot
Excuse me to the King, and tell him I will meet him there.
[Exeunt Colinet, Catalian and Blanvel.]
So, this is but the beginning of sport between this fine lord and his old lady. But this wench Martia hath happy stars reigned at the disposition of her beauty, for the King himself doth mightily dote on her. Now to my Puritan, and see if I can make up my full proof of her.
[Exit.]
Scene 6
Enter [Florila] the Puritan in her best attire.
Florila
Now am I up and ready. Ready? Why?
Because my clothes once on, that call we ready.
But readiness I hope hath reference
To some fit action for our several state.
For when I am attired thus, countess-like,
’Tis not to work, for that befits me not.
’Tis on some pleasure, whose chief object is
One man’s content, and he my husband is.
But what need I thus be attired,
For that he would be pleased with meaner weed?
Besides, I take no pleasure thus to please him
I am content, because it is my duty
To keep to him, and not to seek no further.
But if that pleasure be a thing that makes
The time seem short, if it do laughter cause,
If it procure the tongue but heartily
To say, ‘I thank you’, I have no such thing,
Nor can the godliest woman in the world
against her nature please her sense or soul.
She may say, ‘this I will’, or ‘this I will not’.
But what shall she reap hereby?
Comfort in another world, if she will stay till then.
Enter [Labervele] her husband behind her.
Labervele [Aside] Yea, marry, sir, now I must look about.
Now if her desolate prover come again,
Shall I admit him to make farther trial?
I’ll have a dialogue between myself
And manly reason to that special end:
‘Reason, shall I endure a desolate man to come
And court my wife, and prove her constancy?’
Reason: ‘To court and prove her you may bear, my lord,
For perfect things are not the worse for trial.
Gold will not turn to dross for deepest trial’.
Before God a comfortable saying.
Thanks, gentle Reason, I’ll trouble you no more.
[Aloud] God save, sweet wife. Look up, thy tempter comes.
Florila
Let him, my lord. I hope I am more blessed
Than to relent in thought of lewd suggestion.
Labervele
But if by frailty you should yield in thought,
What will you do?
Florila
What will you do? Then shall you keep me close,
And never let me see man but your self.
If not, then boldly may I go abroad.
Labervele
But how shall I know whether you yield or no?
Florila
Hear us yourself, my lord.
Labervele
Hear us yourself, my lord. Tut, that were gross,
For no woman will yield in her husband’s hearing.
Florila
Then to assure you if I yield or no,
Mark but these signs: as he is proving me,
If I do yield, you shall perceive my face
Blush and look pale, and put on heavy looks.
If I resist, I will triumph, and smile,
And when I hold but up my finger,
Stop his vain lips, or thrust him on the breast,
Then is he overthrown both horse and foot.
Labervele
Why, this doth satisfy me mightily.
[Enter Lemot.]
See, he is come.
Lemot
Honour to my good lord and his fair young lady.
Labervele
Now, Monsieur Satan, you are come to tempt
And prove at full the spirit of my wife.
Lemot
I am, my lord, but vainly, I suppose.
Labervele
You see she dares put on this brave attire,
Fit with the fashion, which you think serves much
To lead a woman into light desires.
Lemot
My lord, I see it, and the sight thereof
Doth half dismay me to make further proof.
Labervele
Nay, prove her, prove her, sir, and spare not.
What, doth the witty minion of our King
Think any dame in France will say him nay?
But prove her, prove her, sir, and spare not.
Lemot
Well, sir, though half discouraged in my coming,
Yet I’ll go forward. Lady, by your leave.
[He crosses to Florila.]
Florila
Now, sir, your cunning in a lady’s proof.
Lemot
Madam, in proving you I find no proof
Against your piercing glancings,
But swear I am shot thorough with your love.
Florila
I do believe you. Who will swear he loves
To get the thing he loves not? If he love,
What needs more perfect trial?
Lemot
What needs more perfect trial? Most true rare lady.
Florila
Then are we fitly met. I love you too.
Lemot
Exceeding excellent.
Florila
Nay, I know you will applaud me in this course.
But to let common circumstances pass,
Let us be familiar.
Lemot
Dear life, you ravish my conceit with joy.
Labervele
[Aside] I long to see the signs that she will make.
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 178
